


when you move (i'm moved)

by sameboots



Series: the no sweeter innocence series [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Lannister Always Pays his Debts, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 13:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18692734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: Jaime follows through on a promise made. The follow-up to my ficno sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin).--"Do you want me?"She looks at him, startled, her heart leaping into her throat, her pulse beating harshly in her ears."Yes," she says, finally, determinedly.The grin that spreads across his face holds nothing back, he's all teeth and dimples, eyes flashing with a happiness so pure she wouldn't have thought him capable of it.





	when you move (i'm moved)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meditationsinemergencies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/gifts).



> Ask and ye shall receive. A couple of people requested the follow-up where Jaime fulfills the debt from _[no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)]()_ : "I want you to look at me and know I'm not a ghost before I sink inside of you so deeply you won't remember what it was like to be separate bodies." Thus, this fic was born. I wasn't planning on writing it, and I started it to fulfill a different request, and I failed at that request. Whoops. 
> 
> There may be a third one. We shall see.

It's the smell more than anything else, fire and soot, the cloying sweetness of rotting flesh, the sharp metallic bite of blood, sweat and panic. She can feel her lungs clogging with the smoke, desperately trying to suck clean air into them to keep her going, to keep her fighting. Then suddenly, the weight is upon her, countless bodies, fingers that are nearly all bone scrabbling at her skin, scratching away, a maw of cracked teeth closing in on her throat. 

 

Brienne gasps awake, a cold sweat coating her skin. Her heart pounds as if she's in the middle of a battle. The only thing keeping her on the bed is the warm arm slung across her. That's almost more confusing, too close to the suffocating weight of the undead. She thrashes, trying to tear herself free of the arm, but it tightens around her.

 

"Brienne?" 

 

The questioning voice is familiar and at once she can feel her heart calm.  _ Jaime _ . The previous night floods back to her, his gentle hands, his hot and hungry mouth on her. The thrum of her pulse is different now, a quick excitement instead of panic. 

 

When Brienne finally turns her head, Jaime's eyes are open, concern drawing his brows together. It is overwhelmingly strange to see him this way, his eyes soft with sleep, his face relaxed, his right arm tucked against his cheek. It's somehow comforting in its incongruity. Everything is sideways. They defeated Death against all odds, the honorable demise they had all planned for never arriving. 

 

One moment, she was preparing for the end, knowing it was unavoidable as the dead rose again even after being cut down by Valyrian steel. She had resolved to go down fighting even as she knew it was hopeless. And then it was over. Coated in blood and gore, soot, mud, she had watched as the dead collapsed around them in a heap of dessicated skin and bone. It was so surreal, she didn't believe it for what felt like hours. She was certain she was dead and this was a mirage, the after life, the joy of victory in the arms of defeat. 

 

Then she had turned and Jaime was beside her, just as coated in viscera as she, chest heaving, eyes wide and frightened and disbelieving, and it hit her like a gusting wind -- it was over and they were alive.

 

Now she's here, in a bed that is not her own, not even the bed in her room at Winterfell. She's completely nude, with the strong, warm body of Jaime Lannister curled around her protectively. She's suddenly overly aware of the hair on his arm tickling her bare stomach, his foot over her calf, the brush of his linen pants against her thigh, the press of his heartbeat against her arm. 

 

He lifts his head just so, leaning closer, hesitating to make sure she won't bolt, and then his lips find hers. Their breath is stale from sleep, their lips cracked and dry, and yet it is the sweetest thing she has ever known. His hand cups her cheek as he leans closer, his tongue licking at her own mouth until she opens to him. She twines her tongue with his, following it back into his own mouth. She tries to ignore the voice in her head that reminds her how unpracticed and oafish she must seem to him, how awkward and unsure, but there's no denying the way his body tenses, there's no denying his moan of satisfaction as she gently bites his bottom lip.

 

Jaime pulls away, his eyes searching her face as he brushes her cheek with his thumb. A small smile just curls the corner of his mouth and she can feel her stomach go weightless at the sight of it, at the knowledge that she is waking up next to Jaime, that Jaime's bare chest is pressed against her, the memory of his mouth on her, his fingers inside of her. She flushes as the warmth that has pooled in her stomach floods south, her cunt clenching and fluttering with want of him, of his promises. 

 

Brienne rolls on her side to face him, molding her body to his as close as possible. She feels his hard cock against her hip, can hear the gasp of breath as she pushes her hips into him curiously. 

 

She  _ wants _ . She has wanted and wanted and wanted for so long, craving something she didn't have the language for, her body aching to go to him so much it felt like an actual rope was tied between them at times. Finally, it's within reach and she has no idea how to ask for it. 

 

Brienne strokes a line from his shoulder to his elbow, moves to press her palm against his chest, feeling the heat of him. 

 

"You're real," she says. She blushes immediately at such a silly statement. 

 

"I told you," he says, instead, no teasing lilt to his voice, no mocking eyebrow. He turns his hand so that the backs of his fingers can track a line from her cheek, over her jaw, down her neck, settling at her collarbone. "Do you know that I'm here?"   
  


"Yes.” 

 

"Do you know I'm not leaving?" 

 

"Yes."

 

"Do you want me?"

 

She looks at him, startled, her heart leaping into her throat, her pulse beating harshly in her ears.

 

"Yes," she says, finally, determinedly. 

 

The grin that spreads across his face holds nothing back, he's all teeth and dimples, eyes flashing with a happiness so pure she wouldn't have thought him capable of it. 

 

Jaime gently guides her onto her back, settling between her spread thighs, mouth crushing to hers once again. She feels devoured, consumed, overwhelmed. The heat of his cock against her hip feels like a brand. Her cunt pulses, throbs, she can feel herself growing slicker with every roll of his still clothed hips against her bare skin. 

 

She reaches between them, fumbling against the laces of his pants. This time, unlike the previous night, he doesn't stop her questing hand. Instead he pulls back far enough, propped up on his elbows so she can work more freely. She gets the knot undone and hesitates. She's seen cocks before, but always soft as a man relieved himself or soldiers who bathed without consideration that she is a woman. No one has ever been hard for her. It seems impossible that someone as beautiful as Jaime could be hard for her, but the evidence is pressed large against the linen. 

 

Jaime leans down to kiss her gently against her jaw, lifts just slightly to whisper at her ear, "in the name of the warrior, I charge you to be brave, Ser Brienne." It feels like a blasphemy, it feels like a promise, and she could no more stop her moan than she could stop the sun from setting in the west. 

 

Brienne pushes the pants off his hips and for the first time in her life soaks in the sight of a man hard and straining for her. The power that washes through her feels so much like the pleasure as she swings a sword, her blood and muscles singing with relief. 

 

"Touch me," Jaime says, his voice choked. When she looks into his eyes, she sees a desperation she can't fully comprehend. She takes a breath and presses her palm against him. His eyes close, his face going slack as his head bows. 

 

"I've never done this," Brienne says, and prays to all the Gods Jaime won't make her ask for his help.  

 

Jaime must understand because he shifts until he's braced enough on his right side to place his left hand against hers, pulling it away until he can coax her fingers to wrap around his cock. He guides her to stroke him, shows her how tight to grip him. She tries to take it all in, the heat of him, the slide of skin over the rigid flesh, the short grunts and groans from his throat as she continues. 

 

He leans down and kisses her forehead, his hand reaching between them to press against her, sliding strong and sure fingers through the wet of her cunt, bring his fingers to her clit to rub in soft, slow circles. She gasps, her hand stilling as she rocks her hips into his touch, her grip tightens around him and she can hear the sharp hiss of his breath.

 

"Please." She groans and moves, trying to coax his fingers lower until she can feel them slip inside her again, that welcoming fullness that makes promises of more. He seems to know what she wants without words and pushes two fingers into her, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit. The sound she releases is somewhere between a wail and a gasp, a sharp burst of something that toes the line of pain and pleasure. She's cresting ever closer to that breaking relief she felt under his mouth the night before when his hand is suddenly gone. 

 

She opens her eyes to find him looking intently at her, he removes her hand from him and shifts until his cock is pressed to her entrance. 

 

"Tell me," he says, voice strained. She can see the pulse beating harshly against the thin skin of his throat, can feel the way his breath heaves as his chest expands and contracts against her breasts. "You have to tell me you want this." 

 

"I want this," she says, her voice sounding far away to her own ears. He closes his eyes, an almost overwhelming sort of reverence in the relief that washes across his face. "I want you." 

 

Then, he's pressing into her, her cunt stretching around his cock. She feels her stomach in her throat, a breathless sensation like falling heavily spreading through her lungs. He pauses and she can feel his hand rub against her thigh in soothing broad circles. 

 

"Take a breath," he whispers raggedly against her ear. 

 

She drags air into her lungs, shaky and shuddering. Her cunt clenches around him, either trying to draw him in further or keep him at bay, she can't tell. Jaime kisses her jaw, the soft place behind her ear, down her neck, soft kisses that barely brush her skin. Finally, he kisses her mouth again, his tongue sweeping along hers, drawing her back to that point of contact, that heady rush of craving that can't be sated by the drag of lips and teeth and tongues alone. 

 

When Jaime moves again, pushing further into her in the smallest increments, she can feel herself open up to him as she chases his lips with her own. The hand stroking her thigh slides down until it cups her behind the knee. He lifts her knee, guiding it so she's more open to him, her leg around his hip, and that's when he buries himself in her completely. 

 

He groans like a man dying into her neck, his breaths hot and damp against her skin. She can feel his body trembling and she has just enough time to marvel that she has reduced him to this state before he begins moving. Jaime thrusts into her shallowly and still it steals the breath from her lungs. The hot, steady draw of his cock inside of her, the way her body clutches at him with every movement, like she's begging him to stay, to fill her so she'll never feel hollow again. 

 

Jaime lifts himself up enough to look her in the eye, braced on both of his forearms, his chest brushing her nipples with every thrust of his hips, sending sparks like cinders through her entire body. The tickle of his chest hair, the sweat sliding down his jaw, the rough, heavy weight of him as he moves within her. It’s a riot of sensation, all of it new and overwhelming. Brienne grips his arms, no longer caring if she bruises him, if he carries her marks next to the wounds of battle. They are both of them bruised and cut, a gash above Jaime's brow just scabbed over, a nasty nearly black bruise against her ribs.

 

But in this moment, she can't feel anything except the mounting pleasure between her thighs, the lighting dancing along her spine. His strokes become frenetic, losing all sense of pace and rhythm and suddenly, she's achingly empty as he spills over her stomach, pearly and warm against her skin. He's gasping for breath, his entire body shaking.

 

He whispers that he’s sorry against her hair. She has no idea why. It was the most extraordinary thing that she could imagine. Overwhelming, uncomfortable and beautiful, a pleasure she couldn't have imagined in just the feel of her body welcoming him in, embracing him fully and completely. 

 

Jaime kisses his way down her neck and over her breasts, drawing each nipple into his mouth, raking his teeth over the sensitive tips until she grabs his hair for dear life. He continues a trek down her body, rubbing his fingers through the mess he made on her, sucking red marks into skin of her waist and further down. Then he buries his face between her thighs and she all but screams at the feeling.

 

Brienne thought nothing could compare to the pleasure of his mouth the night before, the comfort that he gave her, the feeling of being the only mortal to be worshipped by a god on his knees. But this, his mouth on her heated, already tender flesh is like nothing she could ever dream possible. He licks at her like she's an oasis in the desert, starving and thirsty and needy for her and only her. He swipes his tongue in one long press before curling his lips around her clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue against it. 

 

She falls apart with no warning, the pleasure cresting and bursting out of her like an explosion. She screams his name, winds her fingers in his hair, not caring if she hurts him, not caring about anything except the consuming clench of every muscle in her body before the sudden release. 

 

When she calms finally, her breath coming in sharp gasps, Jaime is sliding his way up her body. He holds himself against her without resting his weight entirely on her. She wraps her arms around him and tugs him down until he all but crushes her beneath his own body, the heaviness a welcome reminder that they are here, that he is with her, that all of this is real and not some feverish dream. 

 

"It will be better next time," he promises her, kissing her softly. She can taste herself on his lips. 

 

"How?" she asks, still dazed. She looks at him, at his flushed skin, and bright eyes, his swollen mouth and the wide grin that reveals his teeth. 

 

"Next time," he says, that grin turning into something dark with promise, "I'll make sure you come when I'm still inside you." 


End file.
